


More Hammers, Less Sugar and Spice

by Nieve Wolfcaller (Nieve_Wolfcaller)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fíli and Kíli are Idiots, Gen, Ori gives them what for, girl!Ori - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nieve_Wolfcaller/pseuds/Nieve%20Wolfcaller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fíli and Kíli are just a little concerned about the petite scribe coming along on their Quest. After all, she doesn't even know how to fight. Someone should probably keep an eye on her. Maybe even *two* someones. At all times.</p>
<p>Ori, meanwhile, has had just about enough of their attempts to "protect" her. "Mister Dwalin, can I please borrow your warhammer?"</p>
<p>Written for this hobbit_kink prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8478.html?thread=18320414#t18320414</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Hammers, Less Sugar and Spice

Fíli and Kíli had always been more than a little concerned for the well-being of the Company’s scribe. For one thing, the scrawny dwarf was _younger_ than them, a fact which the princes saw fit to stress often, and loudly. For another, she was a _lass_ (and, for Kíli’s sake, Ori hoped that remark had been a slip of the tongue, since his shield-maiden mother would likely cut it out of his mouth if she heard).

Most worrisome to the princes, though, was that she had had no formal weapons training to speak of.

Upon meeting Ori daughter of Rhodri in Bag End, Kíli made a grab for her hands not a moment after “at your service” passed his lips.

“Look at these hands, Fíli!” he exclaimed, plying and scrutinizing Ori’s small palms as if a blister or a scratch might be hiding from his inspection. “It’s like she’s never seen a forge or sword.”

Ori, then mindful of her place, piped up, “That’s because I haven’t, sir.” (That was the first and last time she called Kíli _sir_.)

Fíli frowned. The elder brother had enough self-restraint not to go poking and prodding at her unnaturally soft hands, but he still took the matter far too seriously. “Then what weapon do you use?”

“Well, I do have a slingshot, sir.” Ori knew her place then, and was dutifully honest. “But mostly I prefer quill and ink.”

Kíli couldn’t quite stifle a snort as he dropped her hands.

“A quill’s not a _weapon_.”

After that moment, Ori concluded that the fabled princes of Durin were just a little bit brainless.

 

When the Quest began in earnest, Ori made sure to ground dirt under her nails as soon as possible. Her effort went unnoticed by Fíli and Kíli, however, who – Ori soon learned – had tasked themselves with her personal protection. They dogged her steps along the forest trails whenever they weren’t off scouting for their uncle; when they thought she looked a little tired they picked up her ledger and her bags; and at night they went so far as to lay their bedrolls next to hers.

Now, Ori thought that was very nice of them and all, and she _was_ flattered they’d go so far out of their way for a trader’s daughter, but in truth she was a mite sick of being treated like a helpless dwarfling. She already had two brothers anxiously ensuring she didn’t totter off in the woods and that she ate enough each night.

She was nearly seventy and didn’t need any more coddling, thank you very much.

 

Ori finally told them as much one morning, while the Company rested in Rivendell and there was _really_ no need for them to follow her around corners. (Honestly? Were the elves going to kidnap her, too?)

But that was also the morning after orc scouts chased them down, and Kíli answered her request with wide-eyed alarm.

“But you can’t even _fight_.”

Ori was getting just a little sick of the self-righteous line of Durin.

 

Yet, it was not until after the Eagles sent them off – after the Company struck up a bedraggled camp at midday because none of them had slept that night – that Ori finally reached her limit. She had slipped down to the stream to wash her hair because, after nearly dying four times in the past twenty-four hours, she reckoned she deserved a moment’s peace.

She reckoned wrong.

It was a tiny splash that alerted her: a stone tumbling down the steep slope, landing _plop_ in the river. Any other day, she might have ignored the disturbance; this morning her nerves were too frayed to do anything other than whip around, bare fists curled and readied.

Just in time to recognize a flicker of blond hair.

Ori let out a decidedly ungraceful shriek, clapping her arms over her bare chest. The water nearly reached her shoulders, but _still._

“ _Fíli!_ ”

The prince froze where he teetered on the edge of the embankment. By the angling of his body he intended to make for the shelter of some bilberry bushes before his foot hit a loose rock. In her scandalized fury, Ori could only be glad it was _Fíli_ because she certainly wouldn’t have heard his brother’s approach before...before... (Ori went scarlet at the very thought.)

Fíli’s face turned an interesting shade of red, too. “I _wasn’t_ – I mean – this – this isn’t what it looks like!” he spluttered.

Her place and propriety be damned.

“GET OUT!” Ori bellowed, and maybe something in the fact that such a scrawny dwarf could be so loud – or the venomous threat underlying her tone – sent Fíli running for his life. A rustle in the bushes was all Ori heard, but she knew Kíli had bounded after him.

Ori huffed in the sudden stillness of the forest.

Line of Durin be damned...she was through with this nonsense.

 

When Ori trooped back to camp, her hair wet and unbraided, Kíli tentatively approached her, as if sniffing out the strength of her ire. Ori sent him a withering glare to assure him it hadn’t cooled in the slightest.

Bofur glanced up from the cook-fire in polite puzzlement when Kíli scampered past with his tail between his legs, but Ori only smiled in return.

In the meantime, she approached the Durin who wasn’t currently fleeing from her presence. “Fíli,” she said pleasantly. “I’ve been thinking...now that I’ve seen the sorts of – terrible things that’re following us,” (Ori wasn’t stupid; Thorin might’ve been dozing, but she wasn’t about to mention the name _Azog_ ) “I’m thinking now’s a really good time for me to know how to fight. I can’t rely on you to protect me all the time, after all.”

Fíli nodded, his brow pinching slightly. (Clearly, he was wondering why Ori hadn’t mentioned chewing off his head for spying on her yet.)

“So,” Ori knotted her hands behind her back, “I was...wondering, really, if you’d be so kind as to teach me a thing or two?”

Fíli cleared his throat. “Sure thing, Ori, but...” (Was that befuddlement or suspicion? Ori couldn’t have him suspecting anything, now...)

Fortunately, Kíli reappeared at her shoulder in that instant. “You like axes or swords?” he asked, unabashedly eavesdropping and forgetting far too quickly that Ori wasn’t through with them.

Ori drooped her eyes. “I don’t know. After all, my hands might be too small and soft...”

Kíli brightened, “I could teach you to shoot a bow.”

“Well, that sounds lovely, but I have another idea. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” Ori extricated herself from the princes’ presence and trooped over to her favourite member of their travelling Company.

“Mister Dwalin, can I please borrow your warhammer?”

Dwalin laid aside Grasper, which he had been sharpening, and studied her carefully in the firelight. “Of course, lass,” he deemed at the end of a moment. “Yeh be careful now.”

Dwalin wouldn’t smile, but his eyes crinkled slightly. Ori dipped in a grateful bow and hefted the warhammer as she marched back over to the princes.

She felt more than a few eyes of the Company on the backs of their heads now, but she lifted her chin and schooled her expression. It would not do to smile now. Yet Dwalin was not the only one pretending to sharpen his axes while eyeing the practice session unfolding in the middle of their camp.

“Um...Ori, are you sure you want to start with that?” Fíli inquired, tentatively.

Ori shrugged, heaving the warhammer onto her shoulder. “It’s not that heavy.”

Fíli and Kíli looked at one another. At the end of a moment Kíli shook his head; Fíli arched an eyebrow, and the silent conversation was over. With a sigh Kíli scuffled his feet forward and drew his sword.

Meanwhile, Fíli cleared his throat. “So, Kíli’s going to attack you now... You just concentrate on blocking and defending yourself, all right?”

“But if we meet orcs again,” Ori professed in wide-eyed naivety, “they’ll all surround me, won’t they?”

“Well, yes, but it’s best if we start –”

“Then we should practice that,” Ori interrupted him. “Fíli, you can come at me from behind.”

Fíli gave her a slightly unnerved look (Had she stolen his spotlight?) but obeyed and walked around behind her.

Ori steeled herself. “All right, I’m ready.”

Kíli came at her first. He shouted as he charged, sword raised high, and it seemed almost as if he was aiming for the hammer braced on her shoulder. No matter. Ori huffed, hoisting the warhammer, and brought it about in a heavy-handed swing.

She didn’t intend to harm the prince (well, not _seriously_ , anyhow) but it was hard to control the force-driven head once it was in motion. Quick reactions saved Kíli: he leaped backward, and the sledgehammer’s might pummelled the dirt, not his ribs.

(Ori thought she heard Bilbo squeak.)

Kíli _should_ regain his feet, but somehow he missed his balance, stumbled, and landed on his back on the ground.

Ori levelled the hammer back onto her shoulder to give him a moment to catch his breath. It didn’t take him long. When Kíli sat up, he was already puffing himself up.

“Ori, that – _that could’ve killed me!_ ” he yelped, beyond scandalized.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I can’t fight, remember?” Ori said sweetly. “Oh, it must be beginner’s luck. Let’s try again.”

But Kíli refused to move off the ground. “Fíli, _she could’ve killed me_!”

Ori sighed and turned about to face Fíli. “Is this part of the training?” she asked. “Where the orcs beg for mercy?”

(This time, she was pretty sure Bofur covered an amused cough.)

Fíli’s brow furrowed. He was thinking, possibly reconsidering, and Ori wouldn’t have that after he had quite rudely intruded on her bathing.

A warcry tore from her throat as she lunged forward, swinging from her shoulder, and Fíli didn’t block. Instead, he dove spectacularly out of the path of her rampage, landing flat in the dirt. Surely that was a majestic move he had developed outside of his intensive training, as Dwalin couldn’t quite disguise a snort.

“Ori, if you keep doing that you’ll kill us!” shouted Kíli, who had yet to get up from the ground or so much as lift a finger in his brother’s defence.

“Oh, I would never kill you,” Ori corrected him. She lowered the hammer’s head to the ground and braced herself against it, attempting to huff her damp fringe out of her eyes. “I’d just leave you half-dead, s’all.”

“All right, Ori, you’ve made your point.” Fíli climbed off the ground, looking a little less princely with dirt smudged across his nose. “We’re sorry we tried to stick up for you.”

“ _And_ for stalking me?”

“And for stalking,” conceded Fíli, and he had the grace to wince. “Isn’t that right?”

Kíli nodded eagerly to his words.

“Good. Then we’re at an understanding.” Ori gave another little huff, and when that didn’t shake the hair from her eyes, she swept it back with an impatient hand. Ah, right, she had forgotten to braid it. She gazed blearily across camp, half aware that some of the Company were chuckling, and the rest looked rightly terrified, and, just for a moment, she forgot her place.

“And let me tell you something.” Ori leaned against the warhammer as she looked down at Kíli, the prince still sitting in the dirt at her feet. “You don’t grow up the youngest girl ‘mongst a caravan of traders not knowin’ how to protect yourself. I might not got fancy footwork or a – a sword like you, but I can watch my back well ‘nough. And – and I’ve got yours, if you want. My prince.”

Ori carried the well-loved warhammer back to Dwalin, feeling a little light-headed at her own nerve.

“Thanks, sir.”

Dwalin did smile now. “Enjoyed that, lass?”

“Oh, very much, sir.”

Ori seated herself by the fire and accepted a bowl of pottage from Bofur (“with an extra helpin’ for the extra work,” he confided with a wink). The meal had cooled by now but Ori ate gratefully, a grin creeping across her face as she contemplated her first Durin-free evening in a long time.

Well. Or not.

At this point, Ori was not altogether surprised when Kíli materialized at her side. It seemed he was still too petrified to speak to her, as he addressed her boots.

“Y’know... I could still teach you the bow, if you want. So long as you swear you won’t be better’n me at _that_ , too.”

Ori grinned. “If you wouldn’t mind the competition, yes, that sounds like it’d be fun.”


End file.
